


How Long in the Dank Dark

by lushthemagicdragon



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Bad Credence AU, Drabble, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8756563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lushthemagicdragon/pseuds/lushthemagicdragon
Summary: In an alternate timeline where Grindelwald wins Credence's favor, the Auror Percival Graves remains a prisoner and Credence has learned quite a bit about himself since the last time they spoke || a ficlet





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this fanart by thedesertviking @ tumblr.  
> http://thedesertviking.tumblr.com/post/153986502831/lord-barebone-follower-of-gellert-grindelwald

“You _abandoned_  me, Mr. Graves.”    
  
Credence’s voice is a chill in the dark, tension taut like the band that could snap in an instant.  Raw in it’s frigidity as if the rippling dark that creeps up Percival’s skin could lash at his cheek and release even more blood than already had been lost. Tight as if the boy hadn’t already shattered and been put back together incorrectly.  

 _Incorrectly. A judgement, Percy, with what evidence?  You never really knew the kid at all._  
  
All of his life he had been his own voice of reason, a good trait in an Auror. No one could influence your opinion with your own moral compass pointing north, but that didn’t exclude egregious error. His failure bites deep into his skin, deeper than any of his flesh wounds.  He hadn’t moved fast enough to keep Credence safe.  He’d underestimated him, assumed that he must be a squib.  He didn’t put the pieces together, didn’t predict Grindelwald’s appearance when divination had never been his strong suit to begin with.    
  
_You couldn’t have known,_ his voice of reason repeats, _you should have known_ , his conscience replies without missing a damn beat.   
  
He’s not sure how long he has been sitting in the dank dark without his wand, exhausted from overuse of any wandless magic he could muster in that uncertain period of time.  A few days at the very least, but he knows it’s been longer.  He knows because Credence is breathing down his nose, standing tall over him when the last he had seen of the boy had him curled into himself as if height did not incline him to tower. He doesn’t speak, like there is a question that’s waiting for an answer.  How long has it been since Percival spoke?  He’s not sure.  Hoarse, he must be hoarse.  
  
“Credence, I’m–”   
  
“You _abandoned_  me.”  Credence repeats again with more edge, more fire under the ice, and Percival can feel it up his spine.  “You were going to leave me with them, with the _muggles.”_  
  
_Muggles.  Who taught him that?  That’s not..._  
  
“Listen to me, whatever he’s told you, it’s a lie, I promise you–”    
  
“ _No_ , don’t speak to me, you don’t speak.”  Credence meets Percival’s solid resolve and strength of tone with newfound confidence of his own; a rock meeting a hard place in perpetuity. Fingers grip Percival’s jaw tightly, yanking him up to a face he can’t quite see. The rock against the hard place doesn’t budge from it’s center of gravity, jaw tight in delicate hands and a newborn zealot’s tongue.  “ _I know_ , Mr. Graves. He’s told me everything, about how you wanted to _save_  me, but not to learn, not to be my best self.  You were going to _leave me there_ , as if I couldn’t…”    
  
Words peter off before Credence’s naturally soft voice can crack under the pressure.  Tense and taut, but the band never snaps.  It only loosens after a pause and a breathe of silence, and Credence’s fingers slide more gently down Percival’s neck.  “Lord Grindelwald has shown me my potential, Mr. Graves. Everything that Mother told me was wrong with the world of sinners, everything that she said was wrong with _me_ …”  His palm presses against Percival’s windpipe. Not hard enough to strangle, but as if merely test of strength against a formerly untouchable force. Hard and then soft again, Percival can feel the boy’s fingers trail downward past the collar of his shirt. Down his chest, where a man with less control might catch his own breath.  

“Credence.”   
  
Credence doesn’t listen to warning tone. He hasn’t been, he won’t start now. Breath ghosts against Percival lips from an unsafe distance. He doesn't need to see Credence in the living, undulating dark to know how close lips need to be to his own for him to feel it. He may have, in a different place, as a younger man, moved to bridge the gap at such an invitation.  Memories of young men not much older than Credence pushing forward against him with liquor confidence in secret bars across the city. Memories of Credence himself stretching a distance between them as far as he could without running away. Fucking hell he might have bridged that gap if a rock was not against a hard place under threat of death and a greater mass panic.  He would have if things were different, if the twitching boy he had tried to save were inviting him in rather than Grindelwald's twisted plaything. Solid he remains, stable against soft spindles tracing his pectoral, brushing against his nipple.   
  
“He’s shown me that I can have what I want, Mr. Graves.  That I am worth everything that I want.  Do you think that I’m worth what I want?”    
  
_You don’t know what you want._  
  
“You don’t know what you want.”    
  
That hand pulls away like he’s been burned. The distance grows further than any bridge can cross.    
  
“I do.  I do know what I want. You _will_ believe in me, Mr. Graves.  You told me you did, and you will.”    
  
How long has he been alone in the dank dark?  He will be there even longer still, until that solid rock face is eroded and dissolved into nothing.  
  
He can wait. 


End file.
